Up to this point, the Crucible had been linear, his progression straightforward. Marek had the suspicion that even if he’d taken the other alley, he and his forces would have ended up at the chapel eventually.

Solidifying this notion, a prompt suddenly filled Marek’s vision. Stop the High Priests from summoning the demon Azinai or defeat the demon if summoned. Time until summoning: 10 minutes.

Marek felt his palms grow damp against the hilt of the greatsword. It wouldn’t be easy to stop the priests. He counted six of them standing in a ring at the top of the steps leading up to the chapel. Standing guard some twenty feet below were at least thirty soldiers like those he’d killed near the executioner’s block. These couldn’t easily be ambushed either, since they stood in orderly ranks on the other side of the small bridge.

A stream ran below the bridge, the water swift. He guessed it was fifteen feet across. Closer to his position, several pillars of stone thrust up from the paving stones, two connected by archways of carved stone that climbed well over forty feet high. No pathway Marek could see led to the chapel but for the one that lay before him.

A bridge battle where I’m outnumbered? he thought, chewing his lips. Bad odds to say the least. I do have two champions. They’ll tip the scales a bit, as will I. Still, there are, what… three —no, four officers to contend with? The red plumes were easy to spot at a distance. And though he had trouble confirming the exact number of soldiers, he was able to count four ranks in total. I’ll assume forty, he concluded. And the priests might make forty-six, if each turns out to be a magic user.

The five robed figures chanted rhythmically. As he watched, they held out their hands. Threads of coiling black mana extended inward to form a six-sided star, the hexagram of the Principalities. No, not quite, he thought. This hexagram is tilted. One point stands at the top where there should be two. Is this some kind of cult?

The complexity of the scenario astounded him. If this whole test was merely about him unlocking his powers, why the depth, the lore, the script? Logic told him it might do some good to remember as many details as possible, so he let his eye wander over the scene for another full minute in the hopes of discovering any other information. Marek figured it was a good investment. There was little chance he could get through the soldiers in time to stop the summoning. Besides, it wasn’t his way to rush into things. With the calming influence of his Soulspace quelling his emotions, his methodical nature prevailed.

He examined the bridge, the scenes of battle scrawled into the pale stone above the entrance to the chapel, even the symbols etched on the soldiers’ round shields. Wait, those are sigils! he thought. And they’re… He swallowed hard, nausea sweeping over him. The crest was simple and cleverly shaped. A pair of sigils were woven together intricately to form a single shape. The first sigil was that of Tenacity, the sixth Principality. The second read Death. Few occasions called for the cursed mark. Only a handful of times in his life had he watched Mirrin use the sigil, and only for one purpose: to mark an enchanted gravestone. Preservation Beyond Death was the three-sigil combination commonly used on tombs or gravestones. Only the wealthy could afford it, though, so in a place like Misthearth, it was rare.

Marek saw the priests wore the dual sigils as well. That won’t help me now, he thought, shaking his head. What am I missing? What can help me win this?

And then his eyes landed on something much closer at hand. A cluster of gnarled vines, each as thick as a man’s arm, climbed up one of the closest pillars. The vines were connected to several other pillars all around the courtyard, their blossoming streamers dangling above the path.

The blossoms didn’t concern Marek. It was the arch the main vine climbed up to that set off his instincts. It would be a long shot, but he couldn’t afford to lose any more time. A plan solidified in his mind. Marek paused, remembering he was also a Sigilist. Could he not use Intuit to ensure success? When he attempted it, he was rewarded only with a headache and another prompt. Class Abilities other than those given to Remnant Mage Subclasses are not permitted during the Crucible.

With that out of the way, he withdrew. Marek quickly sorted out which of his warriors were best suited for the various roles he had in mind. Commands were given, three groups formed. Then he marched out with his champions flanking him, so that all could see his approach. The soldiers he’d converted marched close behind in two small ranks. He was spotted almost immediately.

“The Remnant Mage is loose!” a priest shouted. “Defend the Church of the Second Dawn! Guards, keep that fiend at bay until we finish the ritual!”

All went according to plan until a cluster of five crossbowmen emerged from the formation, taking aim at Marek and his champions. Gotta speed things up. Hoped I could taunt a few soldiers into attacking, but no such luck. With ranged fighters on their side and a direct command to do otherwise, he abandoned the idea. To the front, he ordered the ten soldiers.

His minions marched toward battle, their boots and armored figures passing silently. It was an eerie sight that had goosebumps rising from Marek’s forearms. The sharp snap of firing crossbows echoed throughout the courtyard. Oddly muffled thunks followed as Marek’s soldiers intercepted the bolts with ghostly shields. Marek watched his minions advance. They’d made it halfway across the bridge before the enemy took action.

“Defend the bridge!” an officer bellowed. All four ranks marched forward. Half a dozen soldiers crowded shoulder to shoulder to block the end of the bridge.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Then the two forces clashed. It wasn’t the headlong charge one imagines in a famous battle; both sides were well trained in the same tactics, and Marek had ordered his warriors to fight defensively. It wasn’t time to press the attack.

Not all the pieces were yet in play.

Time ground by at a painstaking pace. The crossbowmen fired intermittently at Marek’s warriors but could do little but distract them, given the poor angle they had to fire from. The front rank of their men stood too close to risk it, and the second stood ready with shields high.

Every now and then, a defender or one of Marek’s spirit soldiers would be wounded. His apparitions were resilient. The creatures wouldn’t quit until they’d depleted their life force. And they kept fighting as if uninjured, unlike the humans. One among the enemy would fall soon enough; Marek was sure of it. He stuck to his plan, however, confident it was his best option.

Then it happened. The five strongest souls he’d awakened at the executioner’s courtyard leapt down from the archway they’d climbed across. The clamor was so loud none heard them as they charged the enemy flank. Almost at that exact moment, one of the enemy soldiers died from a spear through his throat.

Now, Marek thought, using Command Spirit on the fallen soldier. The appearance of an unfriendly ghost in their midst disrupted the front line, throwing it into chaos. His warriors attacked from the side seconds later, surprising all but a few of the men. In seconds, the first two ranks broke formation.

Marek didn’t let up. He had a bit of momentum now, and it was time to capitalize on it as best he could. His trusty Officer in Red trudged forward, weaving through the front-line fighters. He crashed into the chaos, killing two more in moments. These joined the fight immediately after, falling upon the men who’d seconds ago been their allies. It was terrible to watch. More terrible still was the satisfaction Marek took from his ploy. His spirit soldiers were dying as well, but their numbers replenished continually, something that couldn’t be said for the enemy. Minutes after the battle had started, half of them were down, souls awakened, the back two ranks giving ground to form a ring around the priests.

Crossbowmen, spread out and pepper the men standing lowest on the steps. Soldiers, attack the flanks as a distraction! Officer in Red, punch through and kill the priests!

His minions obeyed, and the enemy died screaming.

Marek watched from the apex of the bridge. Sir Rhinweld stood silent and resolute beside him. Marek was beginning to wonder if he and the executioner might not be needed after all. The Officer in Red ran headlong at the two soldiers standing in his way, both wounded by crossbow bolts that jutted out from their armor here and there. Another mental order was given, and the minor champion triggered the same Ability he’d used against Marek. Another soldier died, his companion falling onto his back inside the ring of defenders.

The priests eyed the champion nervously, and Marek smiled. Busy as they were, none appeared capable of lifting a hand in their own defense.

A pinprick of light illuminated the hexagram formed by the mages’ dark mana. Marek’s stomach filled with ice as he watched it expand rapidly in a sphere of white and black. As his champion drove a spear through a priest’s heart, the sphere exploded. The stone beneath Marek’s feet shook, and the young man stared in awe at the being standing on the stairs, nine feet tall and radiating power. Gray skin stretched taut over too much muscle and sinew. Its torso was unnaturally tall, its eyes inky black. Other than these features and its enormous size, the demon might have passed as human.

The nearby priests and soldiers had been knocked to the ground, some likely dead or dying, yet his own forces didn’t seem greatly affected by the explosion. His champion was within range, and Marek wasn’t about to throw away the opportunity. Kill it! he ordered frantically. Then he raised five more souls that had died in the seconds prior.

Marek bit his lip as the minor champion flung the priest from his spear. He closed the distance to the demon in two strides. Tapping into the rest of his power, the champion triggered the Unwavering Thrust Skill once more. The champion’s attack struck gray skin. Even from Marek’s point of view, he could tell the blow was devastating, penetrating deeply and likely punching out through the creature’s back.

Marek’s champion moved with purpose. Tearing the spear free, the Officer in Red struck again, this time aiming for its foe’s head.

Then the demon moved. Its arm swung up to connect with the shaft of the spear. Wood shattered and splinters flew in all directions. Before the champion could withdraw, the demon stabbed a hand forward as if it were holding a dagger. Blade-like, the appendage drove through the smaller warrior’s spine. The Officer in Red stiffened, the bright energy burning within its form dissipating as it died.

No blood was spilled, but Marek still considered the sight gruesome. In the blink of an eye, one of his most powerful allies had been destroyed.

Marek stared in shock as the demon dashed here and there, moving at incredible speed and seemingly unbothered by the gaping wound in its belly. Every time it attacked, a spirit soldier was destroyed. Not a single movement was wasteful, and few attacks were blocked. So frenzied was the monster that not even the soldiers sworn to protect the demon were spared. The creature slaughtered all within range, either uncaring of who was friend or foe or unable to tell the difference. Marek raised the dying soldiers in the hopes of overwhelming the monster, but none did more than scratch its gray hide.

These weren’t real men dying, but Marek nevertheless despaired. To a Remnant Mage, each spirit destroyed was a tremendous loss. These were resources he couldn’t replace. For the first time since he’d left the dungeon, Marek feared for his chances. The dread and anxiety churned beyond the barrier, so insistent some leaked through and chilled the young man’s heart.

The demon turned its back on a trio of dead soldiers, ceasing its slaughter momentarily. Marek ripped himself from fear’s clutches and added up all that remained. Five crossbowmen. Two spirit soldiers. Nine souls newly slain. Damn, but that thing works fast!

Cursing under his breath, Marek had no choice but to fall back on plan B.

Draining the souls nearest to the demon first, Marek filled his Spirit Core to bursting. Only when he sensed danger did he relent. Then he faced Sir Rhinweld and cast Elevate Champion a second time.

Again, the executioner grew in size, and again, the fell light pouring from Rhinweld’s form brightened. The greatsword in his hand suddenly burst into ghostly flame. Standing a full eight feet, he was nearly a match in size for the demon. And when Marek sensed the addition of a new Skill, he knew he’d made the right choice.

The singular enemy glared down from its perch on the chapel stairs. Its feet were smeared red, its clawed hands dripping with the blood of its followers. Hissing, the demon bent its knees and vaulted clear across the battlefield, landing at the base of the bridge.

Marek took a calming breath, then drained the five crossbowmen that remained and cast Spirit Armor.